THE WHITE CAT OF C.
The following story, which appears in Mrs. Crowe’s last book, has just been vouched to us by the lady who furnished the account to Mrs. Crowe, and our readers may rely on its perfect accuracy. It is as well authenticated as the rabbit of the Wesley family, or of any of the more modern and well proved appearances of animals:—
About fifteen years ago, I was staying with some friends in Yorkshire, and our host, Sir G. W., being very much crippled with gout, was in the habit of driving about the neighborhood, on which occasions, I often accompanied him. One fine summer’s evening, we had just entered a lane, when, seeing the hedges full of wild flowers, I asked my friend to let me alight and gather some; I walked on before the carriage till I came to a gate, a common country gate, with a post on each side, and on one of these posts, sat a large white cat, which though seen by the groom as well as myself, was not visible to my friend. I thought he must be joking or else losing his sight, and I approached the cat, intending to carry it to the carriage: as I drew near, she jumped off the post, but to my surprise, as she jumped, she disappeared! No cat in the field,—none in the lane—none in the ditch! I was quite bewildered; and when I got into the carriage, again my friend said, he thought I and James were dreaming. I had a commission to execute as we passed through the town of C., and I alighted for that purpose at the haberdasher’s; and while they were serving me, I mentioned that I had seen a beautiful cat, sitting on a gate in the lane, and asked if they would tell me who it belonged to, adding, it was the largest cat I ever saw. The owners of the shop and two women who were making purchases, suspended their proceedings, looked at each other, and then at me, evidently very much surprised.
“The lady’s seen the White Cat of C.,” cried two or three. “It hasn’t been seen this twenty years.”
The pony getting restless, I hurried out, and got into the carriage, telling my friend that the cat was well known to the people at C., and that it was twenty years old.
In those days, I believe I never thought of ghosts, and least of all should I have thought of the ghost of a cat; but two evenings afterwards, as we were driving down the lane, I again saw the cat, in the same position, and again my companion could not see it; I alighted immediately and went up to it. As I approached, it turned its head and looked full towards me with its mild eyes, and a kindly expression, like that of a loving dog; and then, without moving from the post, it began to fade gradually away, as if it were vapour, till it had quite disappeared.
All this the groom saw; and now there could be no mistake as to what it was. A third time, I saw it in broad daylight, and my curiosity greatly awakened, I resolved to make further enquiries amongst the inhabitants of C., but before I had an opportunity of doing so, I was summoned away by the death of my eldest child, and I have never been in that part since.
The British Spiritual Telegraph, 1859
Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: “The rabbit of the Wesley family” refers to what psychical researchers might term a “poltergeist” outbreak at Epworth Rectory, home of the Rev. Samuel Wesley, father of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism. Among other apparitions, Mrs. Wesley saw an animal in the house resembling a badger, while a serving man saw “something like a white rabbit, which came from behind the oven, with its ears flat upon the neck, and its little scut standing straight up.” Family letters relating the entire mystifying affair may be found at this site.
Mrs Crowe is Catherine Crowe [1803-76], author of novels and children’s stories, but best remembered for her collection of stories of ghosts and ghost-seers, The Night Side of Nature. The subject seems to have unhinged the lady’s mind, for she was found in the streets of Edinburgh “clothed only in her chastity, a pocket-handkerchief, and a visiting card,” under the delusion that she was invisible. An admirable account of this unfortunate event is found here.
In this muted account, the ghostly white cat seems (although this is not stated explicitly) to be a token of the death of the narrator’s child. White objects–doves, rabbits, owls, White Lady spectres, arsenical powders–are well-known to peasant and folklorist alike as death omens.
Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes
You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.